


By Candlelight

by charll



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU where Dany finds out Jon is a Targaryen on her own because she's a smart cookie, AU where Dany is a good aunt, Beyond the Wall AU, Character Death, Episode: s07e06 Beyond the Wall, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:14:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charll/pseuds/charll
Summary: The long sail from Eastwatch to Dragonstone gives the Dragon Queen time to reflect, time to interact, time to choose. The heart wants what the heart wants. *AU*





	By Candlelight

**Author's Note:**

> I'm bummed about how much time we seem to be missing in Season 7. Everyone travels so fast now. This is basically what I wish had happened after venturing beyond the wall. Some stuff happens on a boat ;) yeah, you know

* * *

 

Once she had grasped his frail hand she felt it, a familiar fire. This man was her kin, this she knew. He drifted into a weary slumber, brown eyes shutting behind thick black lashes. She wondered what he would have been called in a different life, not something as simple and plain as ‘Jon.’ Her heart swelled with emotion as he slept, chest slowly rising and falling with each breath.

 

She had witnessed one of her children falling into death’s frigid and cruel embrace, but the Dragon Queen felt a swell of heat, not the bitter pangs of sadness. Her heart overflowed with a familial warmth that was absent in her own upbringing. It was hope- true and honest, a feeling she had long since pushed aside for more pragmatic and industrious feelings.

 

His breath hitched every now and then as his eyebrows knit together, expressive Targaryen eyebrows. She smiled, _Are you dreaming?_   She thought of Rhaegal dreaming in his deep, dragon slumbers, oft reminding her of a dog chasing a rabbit. _Half dog and half dragon._

  
  
She would embrace him the way Viserys and these Westerosi would not- could not, this Northern Dragon. The boat rocked on the frozen waters of the Bay of Seals as the night floated onward. Danaerys had lost herself in that moment of candlelit catharsis. 

 

* * *

 

 

The hull was a small crowd of tense, but hearty energy; a bevy of fur clad warriors seated at a strong table adjacent to a large crock of stew and tankard of spririts. As the waves lapped up against the ship’s hull, boards creaking into the steady wood, candle reflected off of candle, creating an inviting warmth opposite to the frozen waters on which they sailed. Sailing back to Dragonstone would take a number of days, and then on to King’s Landing. This would be their only bit of respite.

 

“An’ I told ‘em to take a good look,” a thick accent said in a bold and boisterous manner, the five other men looking on, fully enraptured by the old smuggler’s talent for storytelling.

 

Gendry, who was far too tired to look anything but blissful in the relative safety of the hull, warmed himself with a mug of stew. If he cared about anything other than the warmth radiating through his once freezing body he would be adding his own respective flair to the Onion Knight’s tale. He did not.

 

“The lad over here looked he might a’ needed a change of trousers ’til I steered the blighters over an’ showed ‘em the haul on the other side,” he grinned like a wolf while the other men laughed. Even the dour Clegane couldn’t hide his mirth with his flagon of wine and a large helping of stew.

 

And as the night pressed on and the din in the hull grew louder, one petite, silver-haired head peeked itself out of a slumbering wolf’s room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

For a man with only one eye, Beric Dondarion was very perceptive. Or perhaps he only thought that he was. He was drinking to Thoros, he and the others. But mostly him. One drink became two, two became four. Though he somehow stayed ignorant to the blessings of intoxication, unlike his reluctant burned brother. And so while he indulged in wine he would not feel, he couldn’t help but leisurely nod in the direction of the encroaching shadow.

 

  
“May I join you?” The conversation quieted to nothing as the men in the hull met the confident voice, and though Daenerys Targaryen addressed the entirety of the group, her large violet eyes found a heavy lidded purchase in the piercing blue of her faithful protector, who was comfortably lounging with a sturdy flagon of ale on the end of the hearth.

 

Jorah’s mouth parted as if to say something, _“Of course, my Queen,_ ”or _“If you so desire, Khaleesi,”_ anything, but his mouth would not form the words.

 

“Please, Your Grace! It would be an honor,” But Davos knew how to save the moment whether he knew it or not. Daenerys settled into a spot next to her bear knight, giving him a soft look and a sudden, secret smile as Davos continued his jaunty jabbering, “Though you might regret that very request-“

 

Jorah’s heart lept into his chest for a moment of contact with his Queen. He no longer cared for Ser Davos and his stories, or who could pay the most tribute to Thoros’s memory in way of drink.

 

“I was just finishin’ up the tale of how Gendry an’ Tyrion an’ I got outta King’s Landin’.” He seemed to pick up with the same amount of energy as he had left off with, and Dany’s eyes filled with that apprehensive mirth she sometimes had in their journey through Essos. “He gave ‘em an absolutely terrifying smash to the head with that hammer. Rattled ‘em good.” Gendry smiled into his mostly eaten stew and a clap or two could be heard from Beric and Tormund. After a while Dany felt some courage enough to speak up, the fact that she only knew a portion of the band meaning little to her.

 

“You all fought very bravely,” She started, not knowing exactly what she was going to say next. “I thank you, _truly._ ” If The Hound felt less compensated, and more sober, he could feel himself scoffing at the young queen’s words. Beric Dondarion, however, had no notion of rebuking her.

 

“And you as well, Daenerys Targaryen,” He began with his usual steady cadence, “To come to our rescue, you paid a price.”

 

Her eyes became solemn in a matter of moments and Beric was ready with a flagon of spiced ale to pass over to her. She took a long, furious drink, drawing the attention once more, and letting the excess spill over the sides she could not consume fast enough. Jorah’s eyes never left her, as she nearly finished the beverage. She let out a hearty burp and heat immediately rose to her cheeks, either from embarrassment, intoxication, or a healthy mix of both. The table could not stifle their amusement as a cheerful holler escaped Tormund's lips at Dany's ineloquent outburst. 

 

Jorah let out a chuckle and her eyes met his again. The hull had returned to raucous merriment and she took the time to turn to her knight and speak softly.

 

“You’re hurt,” Her hand drifted up to a fairly large visible cut on his cheek, dry blood caked the small uncleaned wound. He tried not to lean into her touch too much. He knew someone’s eyes were upon them, though he knew not who’s. Jorah was far too engrossed in the attention his Queen was administering.

 

“It’s nothing, Your Grace,” He nearly stammered as she removed her hand reluctantly, though he wouldn’t have minded if her touch lingered on his cheek for a little while longer.

 

  
It wasn’t long before Davos was snoring away with Gendry asleep on a small part of his right shoulder, and the night began drifting into a strangely comfortable peace. Tormund and Sandor, in their pacified state, quietly bantered on about battle, and women, and oddly, different manners in which to cook a chicken. Sensing she could take the time to focus on her dear knight without interruption, Daenerys quietly stood from the table of compatriots and held out her delicate hand.

 

“Ser Jorah, your wound needs _tending._ ” It wasn’t a request he could deny his queen, not with the look she was giving. He took her hand in his own and disentangled himself with a careful motion, not wanting to wake the boy to his left. He did not look back to see Tormund's eyebrow cock ever upward and Beric grin with interest as they turned a corner and ascended the stairs to an upper deck.

 

* * *

 

  
Dany lifted her hand to Jorah’s cheek once more, this time with a warm cloth that smelled lightly of lemon and lavender, washing away the blood and dirt with secret reverence.

 

“Tell me what it was like.”

 

“You saw what it was like,” voice not much more than a rumble, he quickly corrected himself for forgetting honorifics, “Your Grace.” The silver lady huffed, though not in her usual intolerance. She was amused at his deflection. Dany was overjoyed to have her bear to herself this night, that he returned safely from the journey beyond the wall. The ale’s courage was wearing off, but she didn’t need it any longer. Not with her knight.

 

“Yes, but tell me what happened before I arrived, before you needed the aide of-“

 

 _“Khaleesi,”_ Jorah’s tone changed. If he would be defeated by his Queen, his Silver Lady, he would be defeated with grace. He would give her what she wanted as her hungry eyes set upon him.

 

“You want me to tell you of the Night King and his cursed generals, looking down at us day and night through eyes of glass?” He began with a growl as her body moved in closer to his, hanging on every word.

 

“-or the _snow storms_ that blind every sense, a hundred times more frigid than the winters on Bear island.” She had replaced the cloth with the warm palm of her hand, softly caressing her storyteller with eyes closed. Heat rose to her lips, turning them pink with desire as she urged Jorah on. Every time he enunciated with that voice of his, she melted.

 

“Perhaps you wish to hear about the undead beasts that roam-” she inched her lips ever closer to his, hoping to capture them, claim them as hers, “ _the frozen bear,_ over double the size of a natural beast, that savaged Thoros of Myr-“

 

Within seconds, she had captured him, seizing his low timbre for herself. She kissed him with strong, decisive passion. She had wanted to claim him in this way ever since he entered the dusty foreign pits of Mereen, winning the Great Games against most, if not all, odds. Her heart was taken as it never had been before, she’d realized too late as he rode out of her sight in Vaes Dothrak.

 

He was tentative, careful not to overstep his bounds. Though he couldn’t deny he’d wanted this for as long as he could remember. Each kiss was returned with careful softness, and he could feel the fire in her as she leaned into his body to deepen their joining. Her hands came up to hold his face, feeling the stubble she was so accustomed to had grown out a bit more.

 

She liked the sensation of it all, the warmth of his mouth on hers, the scratch of his beard on her supple skin, the low rumble of his moans whenever she pushed herself into his chest. It was a promise of safety and warmth and devotion, and it was something she would never turn her back on again. When they parted, Daenerys bit on her bottom lip and looked into his eyes now glazed over with lust.

 

She paused her wanton ministrations to pull back with wide, disbelieving eyes, “Wait, a giant undead bear?”

 

"Is that really so hard to believe," He laughed, not knowing whether to be amused or offended, her hands resting on his chest. After a small moment of silence she spoke again, passion beginning to return through a veil of sincerity.

 

“You avenged him?” 

 

He grew silent for a moment before looking at her plain, eyes full of that same fire she saw in the pits of Mereen. She didn’t need an answer, but she grew very fond of this game as he inched closer once more, hands that were once idle moving to her waist. Their eyes closed and they gave in once more to the fire of the night.

 

“Yes.” 

 

It would be a long sail to Dragonstone. 


End file.
